


Coffin Dance

by gaychemistryclub



Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: Angst, I'm Sorry, M/M, i'm not really sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-19 09:13:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4740920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaychemistryclub/pseuds/gaychemistryclub
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sledge might be just a skinny kid from Alabama, but his hair is a forest fire and his fingers burn Snafu's skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coffin Dance

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the song Coffin Dance by AJJ.

Snafu was born and bred in the bayou, where the rain fell in sheets and thunder rolled louder than a mortar shelling. Forked tongues of lightning split the sky as though a great lizard hid behind the clouds and afterwards the air would be so humid that it clung with the tenacity of a living thing. A beast curled around him. A river of molasses thicker than his accent.

He would stand outside until soaked through and shivering. Until maman threatened to drag him indoors by the ear. Until he was grinning and wild-eyed and _alive._

***

The rain in Okinawa makes him feel anything but that.

Nothing about the place sits right with Snafu. The name lies awkward on his tongue and the replacements hunch awkward in their foxholes. _Hamm with two m's_ , he thinks, lips curling up in a mirthless smile. Another addition to the endless list of shit he needs to forget.

The rain, objectively, is not the worst thing on that list, but still it feels like a death sentence. It doesn't give life to the earth, just washes up corpses. Freezes Snafu's hands and beats an eternal drum roll against his helmet.

He tells himself that it can't go on forever, that there's a limit to how much water the sky can hold. That one day he'll wake up to a bleak sun and a dry shirt. He repeats it to himself until it's a mantra. A prayer to the God he'd turned his back on when he'd taken his first step on Cape Gloucester.

It doesn't stop. It rains and rains and rains until Snafu thinks he's drowning on dry land.

Sometimes Sledge feels like the only warm thing on this godforsaken island.

***

Sledge might be just a skinny kid from Alabama, but his hair is a forest fire and his fingers burn Snafu's skin.

***

The end of the war finds Snafu holding a bottle of Scotch instead of a Thompson. Burgin's sauntered off somewhere in all his drunken glory and suddenly he and Sledge are alone.

The whiskey is still burning Snafu's throat when Sledge kisses him. It's not the first time but God knows it's probably the last. Snafu lets himself be pushed down, lets Sledge fumble his trousers open. Kisses him back, languid and lazy. Swallows the panic that rises up his throat like bile, the thought that this will never happen again.

If the whine that slips from his lips is lost amidst cries of celebration, all the better.

***

The train ride home feels longer than the entire war. Snafu catches each furtive glance that Sledge sneaks his way, but for the first time in his life he's tongue-tied. He knows what he wants to say, what he _needs_ to say, but the words catch in his mouth. Sledge watches him curiously until Snafu tears himself away from his gaze and chats up the first girl he sees like he has something to prove. To himself, to Sledge. He doesn't know.

Her slap is righteous punishment for thinking that Cajun boys with big eyes and easy grins could fit into the life that Sledge was returning to.

***

New Orleans comes too soon and not soon enough.

His wrist aches from Sledge's grip as he makes to leave, but he doesn't think about it. Doesn't think about the way he clung onto Sledge as though they were being torn apart. Or about how he bared his throat when Sledge kissed up his neck. Or about the way Sledge had moaned his name, his real name, as he came.

Snafu doesn't think about any of that. He pulls his sleeves over the bruises and turns away instead.

Louisiana welcomes him back with warm arms, but Snafu has never felt colder.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr at gaychemistryclub.tumblr.com


End file.
